* Dismounting from the black horse Midnight, Gandalf strode towards the glade. A steady and determined clopping of heavy hooves followed. For Midnight wanted to follow the wizard, and would not willingly be stopped. The former wraith horse at first exchanged a wary stare of recognition with the current wraith horse gulping down apples. Snorting, the now free creature soon turned away from its former stable companion and concentrated on making its way into the picnic area behind Gandalf. Whereas Gandalf had physically restrained Midnight from entering the doors of the Trade Inn at Sarn Ford and the log cabin hideout of the Rangers, the grey-clad Cloaked Picnic Guest now smiled encouragingly at the horse, welcoming Midnight to come along. *
* Except for these two, the path was now empty, tread smooth by earlier arrivals. Gandalf thought he sensed something. A strange melding of disjointed almost-memories, mingling with a cacaphony of voices, voices high and shrill with merry laughter, deep and low with hidden whispers. It was as though the throng around the feasting tables were every single one of them looking together into Galadriel's mirror simultaneously, swirling the water into a hundred shades of blue and green, sweeping around to create a whirlpool of alternate pasts, presents, and futures. Guests of a myriad of races converged on the Bonfire Glade Picnic. The whole of Time Itself converged as well ... now bent, now straightening, now a flickering chimera, now solid reality. *
* The convergence of Time weighed down the wizard, wearying him so that he bent imperceptibly lower on his staff. Midnight brushed against his side, offering to be ridden. Gandalf declined this kindness, with an affectionate pat of the horse's mane. *
* Approaching the edge of the glade, a fox darted across the path with a basket in its mouth. *
* Catching sight of a man from so remote a part of Middle Earth that even Gandalf was puzzled as to where he came from, the wizard bowed a greeting. The man was dark-haired with a slight beard, wearing a helm notable for its plume of long feathers, and he carried four quivers. *
* Then Gandalf and Midnight came upon the source of the screeching they'd heard earlier ... a Nazgūl. Gandalf readied himself mentally against the wraith, just in case. *
* Meneli and Estelarion shouted a greeting from across the greensward. Gandalf smiled and returned their wave, and began making his way over towards them. It was only natural that these two Elves should be here ... and even more in keeping with their usual tradition of eager fun-loving impetuous haste, that they should arrive before he did up the Greenway from Sarn Ford. *
* Suddenly, Gandalf laughed good-naturedly and looked over at a long-time friend. His weariness was lifted by the mirthful puns that came to his mind through the words of Bethberry's toast:
"May you placate the spirits" -- Now, that would refer to the red wine he was about to drink.
"Afore you leave these grounds" -- Yes, that surely must have been coffee he smelled on the way here. *
* And then there was the odd chance that maybe even Gollum had received a picnic basket. *
[ September 20, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]
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